The War of Attrition
by Arzosah
Summary: He'd realized it, of course, after their third meeting. Hours, days, years, it didn't matter; in the end the immortal will always win. One-shot. Death-fic. Please read and review.


Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

AN: Reiteration of warnings: character death via assisted suicide. Implied Kaku/Hida, Shika/OFC, Kisa/multipleOFCs. Swearing, because this is Hidan we're talking about. Also some OOC, but then, this is a seventy-years-later fic; that's plenty of time for the characters to change.

All lines in _italics_ are flashbacks.

I started this fic almost a year ago. About a month into the writing process, we had to put the dog to sleep. And although it slowed me down considerably, it also made this whole piece a lot more meaningful. This is now for anyone who's had to go through that kind of pain, the pain that comes with having to end the life of a good friend. Enjoy.

**The War of Attrition**

Seventy years ago, if someone were to describe to him how things would go Shikamaru would have found it completely absurd. But that was seventy years ago, seventy years to the day, oddly enough. Times change; people change. The proof of that was there in the room with him. If seventy years ago someone had told the Nara genius that he would become friends with the Akatsuki immortal, he would have called them crazy. But look at where he was now.

Eighty-six, retired jonin, father of two, a grandfather thrice over, and even a great-grandfather. Shikamaru had to chuckle internally as his mind rattled off his stats; he'd lived a very fulfilling life for a shinobi, and a long one, too. But his fighting career was long since over, and he was so feeble these days he could barely walk. Sometimes he missed it, having the freedom allotted by a healthy body, but not often. Those rare times that Naruto and Gaara, his demon returned to him since the fall of the Akatsuki, stopped by to check up on everyone, for instance; both jinchuuriki had realized the longevity granted to them by their tenants, and had both retired as Kage to go traveling together. Neither looked older than forty. The other times were when his current guest stopped by for a visit.

Hidan hadn't aged a day since their battle all those years ago. That wasn't to say he hadn't changed, but the differences were somewhat more subtle. He was calmer, more soft-spoken, and he swore less. He no longer seemed out to get under everyone's skin and drive them into reckless frenzies. His wardrobe was new, a similar style but with the blacks and grays traded in for various shades of pattern-less red. His hitai-ate was no longer scratched out, probably a new issue, which in itself was surprising.

"_I'd never actually betrayed my village," he had replied with a shrug, as if it explained everything. _"_I'd just gone missing on an extended training trip_."

Shikamaru had never broached the subject again.

There was also the lack of that black nail polish, though it had taken him a few encounters to really notice its absence.

"_Part of that retarded dress code we all had to abide by_," _Hidan had explained with a roll of his eyes, as if it explained everything._

Another subject only brought up once.

He'd also grown his hair out a little, the silver, slicked back locks now falling between his shoulder blades. And then there were those new marks beneath his eyes, like tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. Shikamaru didn't know if they were paint, natural pigmentation, or tattoos, and, frankly, after the vague answer he'd been given the one time he'd asked, he didn't care.

"_They're for Kakuzu," had been the soft, solemn reply, as if it would explain everything. _The silence that had followed his words had been the most uncomfortable either of them had ever been in.

Hidan's visits were rare, sporadic, and often times nerve-wracking. Their first reunion had been the worst. He'd known at the time that the immortal had somehow escaped the pit he'd buried him in. He'd heard from the mortuary staff that he'd appeared in the morgue one morning, naked, whole, clutching at Kakuzu's body and screaming like a wounded animal, before both corpse and zealot had somehow been spirited away. That did nothing to dampen the shock when they'd finally met again. But somehow they had not come to blows. They had just stared, and talked.

"_How did you escape?" Shikamaru demanded edgily._

"_A jutsu reserved for emergencies only," the immortal answered, as if those words explained everything. "The price was many months of bed-rest."_

And that was how everything started: the surprise visits, the tense conversations. Shikamaru was almost horrified by how quickly the stagnant hatred between them had grown into a bond of friendship. They even played shoji every once in a while; Hidan always lost, of course, but didn't have the graciousness to let it bother him in the slightest.

"_It's just a game. What is there to get upset about_?" he'd say with a shrug. Nevertheless, his reckless berserker playing style often cost the tactician many pieces before finally loosing, almost as if he was applying his battle strategy to the game. It made sense though; the immortal was the type of fighter who focused on winning battles and let other people worry about winning the wars.

But that was then and this was now, and right now he felt comfortable enough to show his back to his companion, instead watching the clouds floating in front of the moon through the window as he lay on his bed. It was completely quiet, save for the light rustle of the wind and the almost inaudible whispers behind him.

Hidan was praying again, as he often did during lulls. Shikamaru didn't have to see him to know that he was sitting on a bedside chair, half bowed, his eyes closed tightly, his mouth working frantically around silent syllables, his palms pressed flat together before his face, and his rosary tangled around his laced fingers. He'd watched the immortal pray often enough to know his routine.

He frowned at the mixed memories the prayers always brought up; Hidan's religion had been another thing he had had to come to grips with over the years. And frankly, Shikamaru was not sure what disturbed him more: the fact that the central dogma bore close resemblance to an old teaching he could get behind, or that nothing about the zealot's beloved Jashin bothered him anymore.

"_It's really quite simple," he happily and eagerly explained when asked._ _"Those not willing to inflict pain upon themselves are unworthy to visit it upon another_."

"_The warrior who is afraid to die shouldn't be fighting at all_," _Shikamaru quoted right back, immediately seeing some wisdom in the dogma._

"_Yeah, same thing. But seriously, don't you see: therein lies the true beauty of my ceremony_."

And to the Nara's horror, he did see it; Hidan had killed Asuma by stabbing _himself_ in the heart, dealing damage to both of them, eliminating an enemy and proving his worthiness to his God at the same time. As cruel as it had seemed, the pain _had_ cut both ways, though the immortal's tolerance was the highest he had ever seen.

Sighing away those unpleasant memories, Shikamaru stole a glance over his shoulder at that perpetually youthful figure seated beside his bed. Aside from Naruto and Gaara they were the only ones left. The rest of the Konoha twelve, the sand siblings, and the Akatsuki were all dead. The four of them were all that remained of that era. It was actually kind of depressing.

"Hidan…?" The immortal paused his prayers and opened his eyes to indicate that he was listening. "Do you ever miss the way things were?"

The maroon eyed man blinked at him silently, lowering his hands to his lap, before glancing away, his expression thoughtful.

"Well… it's not like I miss being _in_ Akatsuki, but I do miss _them_." Hidan met his companion's eyes to see if he understood what he was saying. "I mean, heh, seriously, most of the boys were in it because it looked like a mutual protection racket. We may have been at each other's throats all the time but we still looked out for one another. Do you see what I'm saying?"

Shikamaru nodded, knowing exactly what he was saying; even though every Akatsuki pair they'd observed in action had had their points of disagreement, they still showed incredible loyalty to each other.

"The only ones who even cared about the cause were that fucker Pein and his little groupie," the immortal continued, his voice taking on the same nasty edge it once held constantly all those years ago. "Don't miss them. They can burn and rot in Hell for all I care."

Shikamaru remembered Hidan once telling him about how he'd ended up in Akatsuki, about how Pein had overpowered and captured him, and basically forced him to join. It was another subject only brought up once, not just because of the bad memories for the immortal, but because of the missed opportunity the strategist had seen; if only he'd thought to bring in at least his head for questioning, they might have known about Pein's abilities sooner, and then maybe… It was too late for what ifs, the damage had been done and could never be undone.

"But the others? Yeah, I miss them," Hidan went on, his voice taking on a more wistful pitch. "Deidara was practically the life of the party, even though all the emo members continuously shot him down in that regard. Sasori you could always count on to keep a level head in all circumstances. Zetsu was weird but did good work, and was always willing to listen to your problems even if he couldn't do a damn thing about them. Kisame was a good man who was stuck with the consequences of some pretty crappy decisions."

Ah, yes, Kisame, the only other Akatsuki to survive and return home, and another old friend the immortal had kept tabs on. Apparently the shark-nin had thrown himself at the mercy of his clan, not expecting much more than to be used as stud-service for the rest of his life, but instead Kiri welcomed him back with open arms, fully expecting him to continue serving as a shinobi. He had gone on to turn down the position of Mizukage, guide no less than four genin teams through their chunin exams, and father twenty-five children (the Hoshigaki clan had still been key on using him for a stud). In the end, he'd developed a cancer in his brain at the age of seventy, and had chosen a quick death rather than force his loved ones to endure his mental decay. One of his granddaughters was now Mizukage and the heir of Samehada.

"Itachi was fucking crazy," Hidan's ramble continued. "And more emo than he had any right to be, but he was dependable. And Kakuzu…"

The Jashinist fell into a morose silence then, his words failing him. He gave his friend a sad look and a sad smile, as if those gestures would explain everything. And they did. It wouldn't have been obvious to a sixteen year-old who thought relationship seeking was too much of a bother, but now, after marriage, looking back he could see the strange, dark, almost violent affection that existed between the Akatsuki partners. He could see now that through all their endless bickering, that there was a subtle tenderness. It was obvious now, with all he could piece together and all he had been told after the fact, that Hidan and Kakuzu had been lovers.

Shikamaru vaguely remembered feeling slightly vindicated upon realizing this, that now both of them had suffered the sudden loss of someone close to them, but it didn't last long and left him feeling like a shortsighted, vengeful idiot. It was not a good feeling, so he let the matter drop. It was another one of those things they tried to avoid talking about. Especially once he knew how different the loss of a sensei and the loss of a lover could feel; his own wife, a civilian woman he'd met along the way, had died a little over ten years ago, victim of a massive stroke when there was no one around to help her.

"What about you?" Hidan asked to break the silence that had fast become uncomfortable. "Do you miss it?"

Shikamaru gave him a dry, surprised look that only made the immortal smile happily. It wasn't often that he said much of anything during these visits; it was almost a rule that at least eighty percent of the talking was done by Hidan. And even then, it wasn't often he asked such open-ended questions. He was more of a chatterbox than a listener, kind of like Naruto actually.

But judging by his silence, he actually wanted to hear the answer, so Shikamaru settled down and thought about it. And he soon found that the answer was simple and obvious.

"Yeah, I miss it, I miss _them_," he said at long last. "Quite frankly, it sucks that I'm the only one left. Well, except for Naruto and Gaara. But until they start aging like normal people, they don't count."

"Not if their demons can help it," Hidan cut in, still smiling. Shikamaru couldn't help but laugh at that true statement.

"Right. And do you know what else sucks? That I am the only one who survived to retirement."

Another uncomfortable silence set in, the immortal looking away and fidgeting with the beads of his rosary.

"Well, technically Kisame was retired…" he mumbled, his hands starting to shake slightly. But Shikamaru didn't reply, as the full implications of what he had realized started to sink in. He truly was the last; Hidan and the two jinchuuriki didn't count. But all of the others had fallen in combat; all of the others had died like shinobi. Back when he was younger, going out in a blaze of glory had been the last thing he'd wanted. But now, when he was old and feeble and the odds were unlikely, he found that the notion had some appeal. He wasn't sure how much longer he had, or how weak he'd be by the time it was over, and the idea of being able to choose his end, like Kisame had, couldn't have sounded better.

But not suicide. No, he merely wanted to choose how and when he would die, not do it himself. It was too bad he wasn't strong enough to go out and fight to protect the village again. No, that was beyond him at his age. But still, there had to be a way to end it on his own terms, to have a shinobi's death. A way to go out in a controlled blaze of glory…

And then his eyes fell on Hidan once again, and the answer couldn't have been more obvious. Their battle never did have closure, what with the immortal's escape and all…

"And you want to know why it sucks?" He had his attention, but he would still have to work delicately, carefully, to get him to agree to something he had likely never done before. "That I've got no one to fade away with who truly _knows_. That there is now, ironically, less certainty in my life than when I was still a shinobi."

The metal rosary beads clacked in Hidan's hand as he fidgeted with them. Perhaps he already knew where this was going, even at a purely instinctual level.

"At this point I have no idea when I will die or how weak I will be when it finally happens," Shikamaru continued anyway. "I have little control left over my life."

"What are you saying?!" the immortal hissed louder than he'd probably intended, his eyes starting to shake from the panic this was clearly stirring.

"I'm saying that I want to have that control back, Hidan," he spelled it out clearly. "I'm saying that I want you to kill me."

The zealot's breathing stopped as his whole body went ridged, his eyes widened while his pupils shrank and quivered, glazed and staring at nothing. His expression twisted and contorted into a grotesque parody of a smile. His frame lurched once, twice, before his voice finally caught up with him, coming forth as a sharp bark of distressed laughter.

Shikamaru stayed silent, gauging this reaction carefully. He had known Hidan long enough to identify it as a panic response, but the root of that panic seemed to be internal. Perhaps the irony of the request disturbed him. He'd give him a minute to calm down. The immortal was an emotionally erratic person, prone to knee-jerk reactions, but once he got settled into situations he couldn't fight or change he became borderline apathetic. A coping mechanism left over from his time with Akatsuki, if his intuition was correct.

At long last, Hidan seemed to get it together. His eyes came back into focus, and though still wide, fixed directly on his old friend's face.

"You don't understand what you're asking…!" the immortal rasped, the shaking starting up again.

"Hidan, I've thought this through, and I know exactly what I want—" Shikamaru tried to emphasize, but got interrupted.

"You don't understand what you're asking of _me_…!" the eternally youthful man repeated as if the shadow user hadn't spoken. "You don't understand… Kisame asked it too…"

It was as if someone had dropped a lead weight into his gut. Hidan talked about the shark-nin often, even in the years after his death, but somehow he had failed to mention this piece of information. He'd been told that the Hoshigaki had chosen to end his life, but he'd never been told the medium through which he had ended it. Now he knew.

"Hidan…" Shikamaru found that he didn't quite know what to say to that. "I won't pressure you… If you really don't want to…"

"I told him yes…!" the immortal cut him off, almost shouting, before his voice once more pealed off into that distressed laughter. "He had it all planned out, too… when it happened, where it happened, how I did it… and I fucking told him yes…!"

"Hidan!" Shikamaru had to shout just to be heard over his companion's ramblings. "I mean it! If you don't think you can go through that again, I won't hold you to it."

Hysterical maroon eyes locked with calm brown and the immortal's laughter died down. Silence, before Hidan broke his gaze and looked away, hands wringing reflexively around his rosary. Beyond the thin walls Shikamaru could hear his son move through the house, no doubt roused by the yelling. It would be a bit of a bother if he were to try and talk him out of it before he had a solid plan.

"What brought this on, huh?" the immortal asked in a raspy whisper. "How long have you been planning this? Why? Are your kidneys failing you? Is your heart giving out? Did you get cancer? What happened?"

Shikamaru stayed silent, weighing his options. But he wasn't like Kisame; he didn't know how his end would come without intervention. What else was there to say?

"If I lied and told you that I am already dieing, would you feel better?" he replied solemnly. The zealot snorted, that twisted parody of a smile reappearing on his face.

"It wouldn't be a lie." He finally looked his former opponent in the eyes again, his gaze so sad. "You've been dieing since the day you were born."

"I said it before, out of context," Shikamaru pressed. "I'll say it again now: I am asking this of you not because I know how I will die, but because I don't know. And I want to have control again."

"But why me?" And with three short words, Hidan had stuck the heart of the matter. And the retired shinobi was glad he had already composed his answer.

"Because I want us to have closure," he stated simply, calmly. "We'd left our fight without a conclusion all those years ago, and I just can't leave it like that."

The immortal breathed in deeply, and let it out in a sigh. For a moment he was silent, but calm.

"Alright…" he whispered at long last, his eyes averted. "If that's what you really want…"

"Hidan, if it upsets you that much I won't hold you to it…"

"No! It's fine; you just startled me, is all." The zealot finally met his eyes again. "If this is what you really, truly want, then I will do it."

Shikamaru smiled warmly, gratefully at his friend, lying back on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

"Thank you," he breathed out. "And I mean for everything. I know this is a bother, but the fact that you are willing to do it means a lot to me."

Hidan smiled back and stood, hanging his rosary back around his neck as he turned to gather his scythe leaning innocently against the far wall.

"Do what you need to do. I'll be outside waiting when you're ready."

*

_"Do you remember when we were first introduced, Hidan? Do you remember what I said to you then?"_

_"You said: 'Hello fresh-meat! Welcome to Akatsuki. Could you try to go three weeks without dieing, because that's what my money's on'. Who won that bet anyway?"_

_"Pein did. He said Kakuzu wouldn't be the one to kill you, and he was right. He picked you for a reason, you know."_

_Kisame took another swig from the sake bottle then before passing it back to his friend. Hidan wasn't really one for drinking, but he swallowed another mouthful anyway. It was the only way he could begin to forget, to deny, at least temporally, what was about to transpire between them._

_The night was cloudless, and the crescent moon had already set hours before. The only illumination was from the stars, left crystal clear. It was the height of summer, so the sand beneath them retained some warmth. The air was ripe with the smell of ocean salt and the sounds of the gentle surf. Any other circumstances, and Hidan might have been rendered content by the atmosphere, but he couldn't relax, knowing what he was about to do._

_"He lied to us and told us you were dead after we lost Kakuzu, you know," Kisame continued after taking back the bottle, though not yet taking another sip. "We were all a little disbelieving when he said it, though. I guess that's why I wasn't too surprised when you found me again."_

_"He was just keeping his promise to let me go after I'd fulfilled my purpose to Akatsuki," Hidan supplied automatically, seeing as they'd had this exact conversation several times over the years already. "I was brought in to be Kakuzu's un-killable partner, and with him gone there was no reason to keep me."_

_"He _was_ the honest one." The Hoshigaki fell silent before they could venture any further into the 'no-go-zone', taking another swallow of the sake before changing the subject. "Can you believe how many years it's been since all that?"_

_"Sometimes I forget. I mean, seriously, look at me." The contrast between the two old friends was stark. For all his being only ten years younger than the shark-nin, the immortal still looked like a man in his twenties. Aside from his longer hair, and the new markings beneath his eyes, he hadn't changed at all. Not like Kisame, who had gained many new scars and blemishes over the years, and whose hair had faded from a thick, dark blue into a thin, metallic silver. Though still physically fit, he clearly showed his age._

_"Yeah, maybe if you came out to visit more often you wouldn't be experiencing that quite so much." The Hoshigaki's smile faded when the zealot aggressively snatched the sake bottle from his hands and took several swallows all at once. "I understand why you want to stay with your true family, Hidan, and I respect that. But realize that we would have liked it if you'd come down to see us more. The girls are always so excited when you come around."_

_"I'm just eye-candy for them," the immortal scoffed, handing back the bottle. "It's the same thing with the Nara girls. They just like drooling over me like I'm some kind of sex-object."_

_"Heh, and here I thought you enjoyed the attention." He drank the last few sips of sake before placing the empty bottle off to the side and retrieving a new one. They'd only brought one case of the stuff, and between Kisame's unusually high tolerance and Hidan's abnormally rapid processing rate, neither of them would get drunk off of it. It was just to keep them relaxed._

_"Seriously, not all of us come from clans where everyone is treated as breeding stock." He thought about taking the new bottle, but decided to wait his turn._

_"True, true." After a slightly longer than normal drink, the shark-nin pointedly handed his friend the sake before flopping back onto the sand, his arms tucked behind his head. Hidan held the bottle in limp fingers, not drinking from it, silently watching the rise and fall of Kisame's chest. His own chest constricted when he remembered that that body wouldn't be breathing much longer._

_He must have made some kind of sound, because the Hoshigaki gave him a quizzical glance. A glance that soon turned sad. And before the immortal could react, the retired shinobi had risen from where he'd lain and knelt before him._

_"Hidan," he spoke gravely, sword-callused hands gripping shoulders that he hadn't realized had been shaking. "If you don't think you can go through with this, I have an alternative."_

_The blue-skinned man reached back into one of his pockets and withdrew a small glass vial, holding it up for his friend to see. Contained within was a single, black pill, glossy in the starlight._

_"I still have my old suicide pill from back in the day. Kiri standard issue, we all get one upon graduation," Kisame explained, an edgy smile appearing on his weathered face. "I could still use it, even now."_

_Hidan eyed the vial warily, before shaking his head and pushing that hand back down with one of his own._

_"No," he breathed, still shaking his head. "No, I said I'll do it and I will. Besides, cyanide is a horrible, horrible way to die. I should know, seriously, I've tried it."_

_"You would know, wouldn't you," the shark-nin acknowledged, pocketing the vial and sitting down next to his former colleague, closer than they'd been all night. And then all illusion of distance was broken when he wrapped his arm around the smaller man's shoulders._

_"The Hell?!" the immortal shrieked in surprise, trying to flinch out of the unexpected hold. Kisame held firm._

_"Shut up, Hidan," he stated sternly, his iron grip relentless, his tone reminding the silver haired man so much of Kakuzu that he did as told. "You need this."_

_Neither of them said anything as the zealot relaxed against the shark-nin's chest. It was strange for him to be held, restrained like this again after so long. A large, sword callused hand came up to cover the exposed side of his face._

_"Just let it all out, Hidan," Kisame whispered gently. "Let it all out now so it won't hurt so much later. It's alright. I won't hold it against you."_

_And with a full-body shudder and a strangled intake of breath, the immortal obeyed. The tears flowed as a choked wail escaped him. Another broken sob followed. And the shark-nin just held him tighter as he finally broke down, releasing all his grief at once. He cried for Kakuzu, he cried for Kisame, and—Hell, why not?—he cried for the rest of Akatsuki, too. He cried for his old home and the people who had raised him as their own, he cried for the friends he'd made and then outlived. And he cried for everyone he'd loose in the future. He cried for the curse that was his immortality. A life without end, and no one to share it with._

_It was hours before he finally calmed down again, his sobs subsiding as his tears ran dry. The Hoshigaki gently patted his hair, having not let go once during his friend's breakdown._

_"How do you feel?" the blue-skinned man asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You feel better, right?"_

_"Yeah," Hidan croaked out, his throat raw and dry, one hand coming up to rub the lingering gunk out of his eyes. "Yeah I feel better."_

_"I knew you would." A gently squeeze to the smaller man's shoulder and a pleasant smile. "Letting it out like that always helps my daughters feel better."_

_"Are you saying that I'm girly?" The indignant shriek was coupled with an attempt at escape._

_"No, I'm saying that you're human," Kisame assured, once more refusing to relinquish his hold._

_"Human?" The immortal's struggles ceased as he began to laugh hollowly. "Jashin damn it, we're fucking shinobi! We should be stronger than this. Show no emotion…"_

_"Hidan," the shark-nin reminded gently, interrupting him. "I've been retired for years, and when was the last time you were on active duty? It's not like we're bound by their rules anymore."_

_"Yeah, point taken. Thanks."_

_"My pleasure."_

_And for a little while longer they stayed like that, with the immortal folded into the Hoshigaki's embrace, listening to the sound of the surf and smelling the salt of the sea. Out on the watery horizon, the sky was starting to brighten. The night was coming to an end. That meant only one thing._

_"It's almost time, Hidan," the blue skinned man murmured softly, rousing his friend with a tender hand. The albino zealot said nothing to that, merely tensed and shuddered against him. Even so, he still extracted himself from his companion's embrace, slowly and methodically. Still silent, his posture hunched, he plodded his way towards the bloody circle he had scrawled in the sand earlier that night. In the center rested one of his pikes, collapsed and waiting._

_"Hidan…" A hand appeared on his shoulder, halting his steps. "I just wanted to say: thank you, for everything."_

_The immortal looked back and opened his mouth to speak, but whatever words he had intended fled his mind the instant the shark-nin spun him around and slipped a callused thumb between his lips. He tasted blood, Kisame's blood, and shuddered as his skin darkened._

_"Know that I am not afraid, Hidan," he proclaimed in a strong whisper, drawing back his hands. "Know that I do not fear death. Know that I trust you, completely."_

_Back straight, the older man turned on his heel and marched a few paces towards the water and the impending sunrise, leaving his friend stunned in his wake._

_"Well that makes one of us," the now charcoal-skinned Jashinist mumbled, absently running a finger alone one of the highlights on his arm, before turning himself and stepping into his circle._

_While Kisame stood tall facing east, Hidan knelt down behind him. As the sky grew gradually brighter, the collapsed pike was taken into hesitant hands. As the seabirds started to cry, the tip of the spike was placed between teeth. And as the sun finally crested the horizon…_

_"Beautiful…"_

_Dark metal erupted from the back of Hidan's skull. Two bodies fell limply to the sand. One unconscious, the other to never rise again._

*

Hidan never really took pleasure in remembering Kisame's death. He especially didn't enjoy remembering what came after; waking up to find one of the Hoshigaki's daughters pulling the pike from his mouth, and four of the sons removing the body. No one said anything, and avoided meeting his gaze until after the funeral. It was as if all blame fell to him, even though his involvement was pure happenstance. They never said it aloud, and insisted that he was always welcome, but he knew how grief worked. He was grieving now, in anticipation for what was about to happen.

The immortal knelt quietly in the moonlit grass just outside the Nara residence, his body once more folded in prayer. He was waiting, waiting for his unlikely friend to be ready for the end he had chosen for himself. A part of him was sad that it had once more come to him being the instrument of a good friend's death, but the rest of him was relieved that the fear of coming for a visit to discover a good friend dead in his absence had been allayed. The bright, silver lining of his cursed existence.

Much had changed in the past seventy years, neither of them was as they'd once been, but Hidan was and would always be certain that the greatest change was with himself. His wings were the greatest proof.

They had first made their appearance after he'd discovered Kakuzu's corpse, and he had earned the mastery of them after he'd earned Shikamaru's friendship. They were a late-blooming gift of his bloodline, a sign that he truly was his mother's son. Made up of large feathers of crystallized chakra shaded to resemble frosted glass, their great expanse glistened in the moonlight. Their appearance was greatly deceptive, hiding functionality in decorativeness, passing off sharpness for softness. The edges were far keener than any blade of mortal creation, a fact one of Shikamaru's children had learned by mistake many years ago. The curious hand had been cut so cleanly that he felt the blood before the pain.

But unlike his mother, who'd had her wings since the day she'd burst fully formed from the belly of a Jashinist monk, he could not maintain them for more than a day. So it was with resignation that he allowed them to fall away and shatter into dust when he had no need for flight, and endured the pain of them ripping through the flesh of his back when he did. He did not need to fly this night, but it was one of his few lingering regrets regarding Kisame, the nagging thought that perhaps so good a friend deserved to be honored by his angelic form. Blood and pain were the only tributes he could offer that held any meaning, after all.

"And here I was thinking that my family would be the most troublesome to deal with," Shikamaru's surprisingly jovial voice dragged the immortal from his grim thoughts. "Just where do you think we're going that you'd need those to get there?"

"Eh, nowhere really, I just thought they'd be appropriate," Hidan replied, rising from his kneeling position, the wings in question folding behind his back.

"You always were a pain." Shikamaru chuckled at his unintentional pun, shifting his grip on his cane. In spite of his attempts to be accommodating to a dear friend in his final hours, the immortal failed to find it very funny.

"So, where do you want to do this?" he asked solemnly, bringing the discussion immediately back to the matter at hand.

"Well, there is one place," the aged man shrugged, his eyes trailing off in the direction of the Nara deer reserve. "It's not too far, and I think it would give both of us the closure we need."

"Alright," Hidan nodded, following his friend's gaze, knowing in his gut where it led. "Lead the way."

"That trail there should get us there fastest," Shikamaru gestured towards the trampled path with his cane before he started walking towards it; he was quite surprised to find the immortal at his side in seconds, moving to support him. "I will carry myself there, thank you very much."

"You're choice, but remember that I'm here just in case." Hidan tried to keep his tone light, because he was familiar with the desire to walk to one's own death; it was surprisingly common among shinobi.

The dense, moonlit forest quieted around them as they walked down the narrow path. Here and there, Hidan could see the shadows of deer, their eyes luminous in the gloom, following after them in a solemn procession. They're sheer tameness, as well as the almost abnormal intelligence they displayed, had unnerved the immortal at first, but by now he was long used to it. A single stag stood on the trail before them, snorting, stamping, and flagging his tail, before bounding off into the darkness.

"I think they know," the winged man commented dryly once the buck was out of sight.

"They would," Shikamaru shrugged nonchalantly. "Animals in general always seem to know these kinds of things."

Again, they walked in silence, the aged man slightly in the lead while the immortal followed in his shadow. A formation not entirely intentional but completely appropriate given the encounter both sought closure for. They wouldn't be able to recreate it exactly, not with Shikamaru's now limited stamina and Hidan's now more rational disposition, but close enough would do.

"So, how's your family taking your decision?" the winged man finally asked, no longer able to stand the deathly quiet that had settled between them. The other man's step faltered ever so slightly.

"The shinobi among them get it," he shrugged, regaining his pace. "I don't think they will have too much trouble explaining it to the ones who aren't. Besides, it would be too much trouble for me to have to explain it to the kids at this hour of the night."

"No, seriously, what did you tell them back there?" Hidan pressed, suddenly needing to know. "It was way too quiet in the house."

"I told them that I was sick and tired of waiting for death, and that I thought tonight would be a good night to die, and that you agreed to help me," Shikamaru explained with a slight eye-roll.

"They're not going to think that I talked you into this, are they?" the immortal asked warily, another one of his lingering doubts from Kisame's end returning to the forefront of his thoughts.

"No, I made sure they knew that you were about as thrilled by the prospect as they were." Somehow, Hidan did not find this assurance reassuring. He sighed and averted his gaze to the undergrowth on the side of the trail.

"They'll blame me anyway," he muttered, sounding strangely resigned. "It was the same with the Hoshigaki family, even though he'd been set on death long before I'd shown up."

"They won't, I promise," Shikamaru insisted, slowing his pace enough to look back at his companion, just in time to see him shake his head sadly.

"Don't go making promises now, at the end, when you have no way of guaranteeing them," the immortal sighed wistfully, the ghost of a wounded smile crossing his eternally youthful features. The aged tactician said nothing to that, just turned back to the trail. And so they continued the rest of their journey in silence, their footsteps the only sound in the solemn quiet of the forest.

It wasn't much longer before they reached the glade that held endings and beginnings for both of them. It hadn't changed too much over the last seventy years, the half-filled pit still visible, even if it had become home to some sparse vegetation. Hidan was sure that if he dug into it he'd be able to find the weaponry he'd been forced to abandon during his escape. But all that was irrelevant now.

"I used to come here a lot, you know, back when we were first becoming friends," Shikamaru said with a light, nostalgic smile, moving to stand at the edge of the pit. "It was a way to remind myself that I'd buried the hatchet the day I buried you. A way to remind myself that grudges are a troublesome thing, that they only bring you down."

"One of my brothers once likened hanging onto a vendetta to carrying a pack of rocks: you may think that you're carrying powerful weapons for all your trouble, but the only way you can use those rocks as weapons is if you throw them away." Almost in spite of himself, the ageless man found his mood lightening ever so slightly.

"That is a good analogy," the elderly strategist agreed. "Probably one of the best I've heard for that."

"Well," Hidan regretfully rerouted the conversation to the matter at hand, turning as he spoke. "I'm here when you're ready. Take as long as you need."

But before he could fold his body in prayer once more, an aged hand appeared on his shoulder, halting his movements and filling him with the haunting feeling of deja-vu. His stomach dropped as he remembered Kisame once more.

"Hidan," Shikamaru said, his voice quiet and somewhat resigned. "I've been ready since we arrived here. Don't wait on my account. This is about closure for both of us. Take as long as _you_ need."

And just like with the fallen shark-nin, the immortal felt the urge to weep, but this time he forced it down like a good shinobi. Because Shikamaru was not Kisame, and didn't deserved to be saddled with his emotional baggage. His face carried a look of strained serenity when he finally turned to look at his friend. The understanding and acceptance he saw in his eyes almost broke his control.

"I seem to remember a time when you enjoyed drawing it out," the elderly man drawled in an obvious attempt to lighten his mood. It very nearly worked.

"Those days are over," Hidan sighed, approaching the pit he'd once been buried in. "I'm not the same ninja I was back then. I'd like to think that it was our fight that taught me the true value of efficiency."

More silence settled between them, born of mutual sympathy and empathy. The stillness was only broken by the sound of their quite breathing, made stealthy by profession. Both of the men knew that the quiet explained more than their words ever could.

"So," the immortal spoke at long last. "How do you want me to do this?"

"Something quick and as painless as possible," came Shikamaru's immediate reply, as if he'd already thought it through in advance. "Something that doesn't leave a large or embarrassing wound for my family to deal with. And try not to mess with the head."

"An aortal shot, then," Hidan nodded after a second of consideration. "You'll bleed out rapidly and smoothly; loose consciousness in half a minute, tops. Unless you want to reconsider the head criterion. Death is almost instantaneous when I take out the brainstem. That's how Kisame wanted me to do it."

"No, aorta works fine for me," the other man assured. "I may want it quick but I don't want it immediate. I want to face my end head on."

"I understand." The immortal, reached his left hand behind his back and drew out one of his pikes. "Give me a little room, will you."

If seventy years ago, someone was to tell them the situation they'd be in, Shikamaru would have been offended and Hidan would have been bewildered. But that was seventy years ago, and both of them had changed greatly. The one-time shadow-user said nothing as he did as his unlikely friend requested, stepping back to the distance that had separated them during that battle. And the one-time hot-headed berserker was the picture of serenity as he extended his pike and spread his glass-like wings.

"No more anger," the angelic man declared softly as he extended his weapon arm and slashed a shallow cut across his former opponent's cheek.

"No more deception," Shikamaru added, staying calm where he stood, not even flinching at the sting of the wound, keeping both hands relaxed at his sides. "No more vengeance."

"No more hatred." Hidan brought the bloodied pike to his mouth then, his expression soft. "Only closure."

"Closure for both of us." With both men in agreement, the albino's broad tongue slipped out to catch the blood dripping off the end of his weapon.

For a brief moment while that flawless, creamy-white skin darkened, Shikamaru couldn't help but admire the aesthetic of the jutsu. He'd never had a chance to before, not even in retrospect, all memories of it too closely linked to battle. The wings gave it a nice touch, bleeding into a red that deepened into a black point at the tip of each feather. The Jashinist had always appeared angelic, even without the wings, but now he truly resembled the angle of death the Nara knew him to be.

The routine was long written into Hidan's muscle memory, and he continued through the motions without fail. He gasped in masochistic pleasure as the pike stabbed into the palm of his hand, and shivered at the feeling of the hot blood flowing freely from the wound. He waited for enough to pool on the ground beneath him before the dance resumed, dipping in his foot and tracing out his circle.

"I trust you, Hidan." The doomed man's sudden declaration made the immortal falter ever so slightly, once more reminded of Kisame. He concealed his hesitance by making a show of palpating the spot between his ribs through with the pike would enter. He didn't need to, he could pierce his aorta completely on autopilot these days, but the action stopped him from freezing up completely.

That bit of lost confidence regained, Hidan positioned himself properly in his circle, the pike held over his head in a firm, two handed grip. A deep breath, and a pause, before solemn maroon eyes opened again. An assured nod was all the signal he needed.

The first thought that crossed Shikamaru's mind as he watched the spike drive into the immortal's chest was how strange it felt. He was no stranger to the pain of being stabbed, but the sensation of being pierced without any accompanying feeling of pressure in the damaged flesh was quite bizarre. And then all thoughts left him as he registered the feeling of hot blood gushing out of the wound and down his chest. All thoughts save the one that identified his grateful relief.

"Thank you," he breathed out as his vision began to fade grey, his balance failing him. He slumped over, numb and limp, and he would have collapsed completely if it were not for the muscular arms that wrapped around him to slow his fall. Consciousness slipping, he stared bleary-eyed up into the face of his friend and killer, his already angelic features haloed by the light of the moon over head. Dimly, he heard a whisper.

"Rest in peace, you lucky bastard."


End file.
